Fallen Victors
by singinglover4life
Summary: What if there was never an second uprising against the Capitol, and the berries were simply viewed as an act out of love? This is how the 2 'star-crossed lovers' cope with nightmares, cameras, and most of all, dreading their new position of mentoring the next hopeless tributes from District 12.


**Hey it's... me, I guess...? That was not the best way to introduce myself... I'm so excited though, because this my first hunger games fanfic that I've posted! (It's not technically the first one I've written, but the first I've managed to be patient with...)** **Anywho, please comment and don't hate! I'll be asking for questions and suggestions here and there, so when I do, it would be nice if you reply: I'm always open to any suggestions! **

**So just a brief explanation: this is what the hunger games world would be like if there were never a rebellion planned during the Quarter Quell, so any idea associated with that, like Snow's threat, or the Quarter Quell -Well, there will be another hunger games, I can certainly promise that- but none of this happened in this story, okay? And none of the victors will be thrown back into the arena... (Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds like I completely killed the whole sense and meaning to THG, but it will be good, I promise! Or at least I will try ^_^) ****Now I will stop talking so you can read so you can finally start reading, ok? Enjoy!**

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**Katniss' POV  
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I dread the morning. Always have, always will. Sometimes, I get dark, graphic images in my sleep and I force to cry myself asleep until the dark hours are over. But each new day is an opportunity, an opportunity to experience more and more to only add to my pending fears each night. The fears of losing someone dear. Losing everything you ever had when you least expect it. The sensation, that urging, desperate feeling you get when hope is out of reach, when your actions were their last moments, or could have been their last chance. About how they never leave you.

I am terrified of today for that reason. And any day, for that matter. But I should feel relieved, happy even. We were on the train ride back home from the Victory Tour. Away from the Capitol. Away from Snow. Soon I will be home. The 74th Hunger Games is over at last. I can almost smell the taste of blood, his cold snake-like eyes staring into my soul, mocking me: _The Hunger Games are never over_. That shot my eyes wide open. I mean, he's never said those exact words, but I'm pretty sure that what's he means with the annual reminder of the past rebellion with The Hunger Games.

After stabilizing myself, my eyes wander around the Capitol luxuries before me in the dorm: finely-crafted lamps, the antiques that had no business doing on a private train for no one but me to appreciate, the painting in the middle of the room, totally contrasting the dark greys and browns of the train, colours illuminating brighter than the rising sun. The painting was new.

I glance at the digital clock beside my bed. 7:37 am. I never depended on using a system to tell me the hour. Before, at home, _my real home_, the sunrise was our guide. The Capitol people seem to get up at 10 though. Well, everything's always already served to them at the press of a button; they've got nothing better to do than to sleep in on precious sunlight time.

I rise out of the slender, poofy cushion they called a bed and examine the painting up close. Of course, I didn't need a close-up to recognize the hand of such artist. But his work was always underestimated at his old home too, and his images he displayed were those part of those bits of pleasant moments that I could never pass by.

Today, though, his paintings are not such a luxury to view. Don't get me wrong either. It's a painting of Prim and me, planting primroses in our old backyard. I am truly astonished how he managed to capture the detail and reality of every detail. His stroke of his hand, each shade, each texture... They all have a meaning behind it. But I can't comprehend why he decided to leave it in here for me today. To put me in a good mood? The idea was amusing. It just made me more sad, because I was afraid to attach myself to anything or anyone ever again. I sit down on the floor and watch it as if it were the last piece of beauty I would ever receive.

I don't even say good morning to him when he walks in and settles on the edge of my bed. I kept my eyes fixed on the memories placed before me, his presence filling me with a long pang of guilt. _Why did you paint this for me? _I want to ask him._ Why won't you ever give me a reason to hate you?_

I hear a voice call against the door after a while. "You up yet, sweetheart?" As long as Haymitch knew better than to barge into my dorm at dawn, I could be sure of his sobriety. And of course, I sit as hushed and motionless as an Avox, praying there was the slimest chance of him giving up. But I know him better than that.

After another set of knocking and calling, he decides to just open the door without question. That was, as Effie would certainly describe it, rude. But I guess that would have to apply for Peeta as well, since he crept in here without a single word or sign of recognition.

"Aw, look how smug you two look, all hushed up in the same room." He says with an unconvincing expression.

"What do you want, Haymitch?" I never turn to him.

"Effie went to a meeting for some last-minute arrangements after the Capitol party last night," Last night? We just got back from the party less than 3 hours ago. Yes, the party went on all night and morning, but we left at 5am because it was just too much to handle, the whole 12 hour Capitol extravaganza. "Don't worry, she'll be back to prepare for your necessities and to escort you both."

"Thanks," Peeta replies coldly behind me.

The urgency Haymitch had to say that seriously tugs at me; it must have meant something else to interrupt me in my room like that. I guess he was confident in the knowledge that I always wake up before dawn. "So why do you care if she's late or not for whatever reason?" I talk for the first and most likely last time of the morning.

"...Just wanted to let you kids to feel free to feast on your breakfast like pigs, now that she's not here to criticize your _manners_," He choked out a small laugh to himself. "Personally, I think it's her who needs manners, considering it's legal in the Capitol to judge the way other eat. Also, I wanted to tell you that we'll be home in 2 hours, so don't get too cozy."

I finally decided to turn myself around to face my mentor at the doorway chuckling to himself, but by doing so, I reveal my flushed-out emotions displayed carelessly across my face to the boy at the edge of the bed. I thought he spend the entire time looking over me, but he seemed to keep busy entwining his fingers into a green silky ribbon. What was that supposed to mean?

I looked at him with a glimmer of hope and despair. Why wasn't he talking to me? Sure, maybe I had greeted him the same way, but he surely wasn't one to entitle me for my mistakes— and we both knew well enough that there were plenty of those.

Haymitch looked at me questionably and then at Peeta, and then back to me, sighing with such annoyance in his tone. "I'll never get you both," He says as he slammed the door.

I roll my eyes, knowing well that he could guess us perfectly. Maybe he wasn't the sweetest person I knew, but he was the only one I could count on for being brutally honest. Well, him and Gale. I wonder about his whereabouts at this moment. He must be getting up in a few minutes to work the mines. But tomorrow's Saturday, then it's Sunday, when he will be free of labour and I will be back from this Victory Tour and this stuffy death-train.

I wonder if Gale is thinking about me now. I lose myself into the vibrant colours of the Meadow, where Gale and I escape to the outer world of District 12 and into the thick greenery around us. The smell of pine, the crisp of the dead leaves beneath our feet, the sweet, sticky sap that runs like water, downwards like the trees, as they trail along the edge of the painting where I am reminded of reality by the small, handwritten signature painted where the Meadow stops.

"Peeta?" I cock my head around.

I scan around the room to discover he had vanished. It was too late to thank him for the painting.

Maybe it was for the better. I didn't know how to put it, anyways. Thanks for the lovely Meadow, it reminds me of Gale? I think of the times I have deceived him, or owed him. In the interviews when he declared his love for him, and I had responded with an injury. In the games, when he teamed up with the Careers to protect me, and I had vowed to never trust him again. Willing to mercilessly lay down his life for mine, when I instinctually raised my bow to end his. Faking my share of love for him, the love he genuinely had for me. Him risking everything he was, and I turned my back to him for months in response to try and forget. The list goes on and on. And now, as he conjured up this heart-touching piece with his exceptional talents, I thank him with the memories of Gale. And nothing he had ever done to me, or to anyone ever, gave him a reason to deserve this.

I crawl behind the painting, behind the dresser, into an elaborate fort within the furniture, and I shield my face with a cold blanket, finally feeling free to drown myself in tears. Snow creeps into my thought once again, and I realize the message of how certain things will never be over. The nightmares, terrors, debts, I would never truly be free of those. The painting was just a fresh, living proof that I would never stop owing the boy with the bread.

My deceiving act. His unconditional love. My cowardliness. His courage. My hunting instinct to flee. His determination to keep on.

And I hated him for it.

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**I'm almost done the second chapter for this, but the way things are going at school, it is going to be a pretty busy week for me, but I will update soon! The next chapter will include one of Katniss' haunting nightmares, and maybe Gale! I mean it when I say maybe; I haven't decided whether I should include him or not. Should I? Please follow and review if you enjoyed! Happy Hunger Games!**


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